


Hello Doc

by Sinpre



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Other, Psycologist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinpre/pseuds/Sinpre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just visiting a psychologist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello Doc

Deadpool slowly lay down on the couch. The psychologist next to him looked concerned but the merc didn't gave him enough time to wonder who this strange man was. Deadpool started talking. Because that's what psychologists are for.

"So Doc, here we go. Just let me talk, because that is what I do best."

The man nodded.

"I bury myself in the crappy appartments I live in. I make a lot of money with the jobs. Enough to live a nice life. And all I do, is to spend it on crap. Sure, it was fun to buy myself an inflatable castle. Or a whole lot of weapons that I never use. Or just another crappy appartment.

When I am on a job, my life is ok. When I fight. When I kill. When I hurt people and when I hurt myself I feel alive. No, that is not the right word. I don't feel helpless anymore. Powerless. I feel in control. Of the situation, of the people around me and of myself. 

Back home my daylie routine is: Sleep a lot. Eat a lot. Watch tv all night. Watch porn, whoa, a lot of porn. And the only persons I am talking to is myself, the tv, the nice lady in the grocery store around the corner and the lady on the sexhotline. Though I am not shure if the last two weren't actualy the same person. Maybe I just made that up in my head. I do that a lot. 

Point is. I could have bought a nice little house for myself. But everywhere I could have gone, I would have still be dealing with myself. And that is the Person I realy hate the most. The one thing I can't leave behind. 

I don't deserve a happy life. It is the biggest punishment that I am not able to kill myself, to put an end to it. Sometimes I shoot myself in the head, just to feel the comfort of the white noise running through my brain while I regenerate. But the times gets shorter and shorter. I think my body remembers how to regenerate the brain and got so used to it, that it repairs faster and faster.

There were times when it took half an hour before I was contious again. Now it is maybe ten minutes. No more peace for me from that anymore. 

And then there is the pain. Feeling my body destroy and repair itself. There was a time when it seemed, that I got used to it. And I did. But the pain in my head grew, reminding me what a pile of shit I am. 

Nobody cares about me. Not even I do. I had some partners on the job. But no one I could call a friend. Most of them didn't even want others to know that they have anything to do with me. I am the man for the dirtywork.

I treat the people around me like crap. I push them away, I hurt them. Because I can't stand the feeling that I am the one who is left behind. 

On the other side I am craving for somebody. Anybody. I am craving for a nice word. A soft touch. Or a hug. Just somebody that holds me in her or his arms and hugs me. Just one kind soul that is there for me, even when I am cruel and hurt them and push them away because I think that I don't deserve somebody who is nice to me.

I don't even want to think about my relationships. Even before the cancer I never had a relationship. A real one. With being happy and living together. And after the cancer. There was barely anyone who could stand to look at my face or was willing to touch me. Hell, I can understand them. Who would ever want to touch a walking abomination like me? Except maybe some crazy psycho. But i have enough psycho in my life dealing with myself. 

I don't even want to touch myself. Even when I am alone I leave on my mask cause I can't stand the way I look. 

I am alone. And cause nobody ever cared about me I made it easy for them to hate me. Then I could pretend that I didn't want them to like me anyway.

I am so tired. But the sleep isn't what it used to be.

….

Thank you doctor, for listening to me. It was good to have somebody listening to me."

The psychiatrist nodded.

"But you know, a job is a job. And some guy pays me a lot of money to kill you. So, don't take that personaly."

One shot. One brain on the wall. Another paycheck.


End file.
